


When the Dust Settles

by kriegslastbraincell



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Redemption AU, Troy did nothing wrong, and no i don't take criticism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25302142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriegslastbraincell/pseuds/kriegslastbraincell
Summary: The last place any sane person wants to wake up is in the dust of Pandora. And that's before the chopped up memory and group of weirdos following you around talking about God-Queen this and God-King that.Something is incomplete. Wrong. And despite his lack of evidence, Troy knows something's being hidden from him. After all, Tyreen wouldn't act like this much of a monster for no reason, right?Redemption AU for Troy Calypso. Based on my own observations and lore theories.
Relationships: Rhys/Zer0 (Borderlands), Troy Calypso/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Asking for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> So. I have to admit. I don't know why I'm writing this, but I have all of these theories and ideas about the Calypso Twins and yes, it is definitely fueled by my desire to see Troy happy.

**Troy | Chapter I | Part I** **  
**

I wake up coughing. _Again_. 

My lungs are useless on a normal day, but I’m starting to think they aren’t actually worth the trouble on this dusty asscrack at the end of a much nicer celestial body. Screw bandits and skag being this planet's natural resources. When there’s sand under my feet, in my hair, and making itself at home in my lungs, I think it’s safe to say that the only plentiful resource here is useless grit. Pandora is a one way ticket to Crustyville, population: my insides. What a fuckin’ paradise, eh?

I doubt Tyreen’s idea of luxury was sweat, more sweat, bandits, viscera, skag meat, and my bitching that would be a constant until I either die or kill her first. The former is the more likely option, and honestly? The one I prefer. Let’s see you do this by yourself, sis. 

I roll over and feel the pressure nested against my spine rocket in the back of my neuro-ports. My brain splatters against the inside of my skull, the pain slicing my eyes open. As soon as I figure out that I’m awake, I’m pretty set on the idea that I long for the sweet embrace of nothingness. The void. Whatever the fuck not being alive or awake looks like. 

My body creaks like the ruins baked to dust by the sun. Holy _fuck_ it hurts to breathe. 

My chest and eyelids are equally heavy. I don’t fight the dragging feeling that’s adhering me to the floor. Too tired. Gotta rest. 

A veil falls over me. The agony that’s dancing around my spine and my neck fades to a dull, swirling ache. My heart chokes on itself and sends white ripples across the inside of my eyelids. Gonna be one of these days I see. That’s fine. Not like I wanted to be comfortable. 

With my brain unable to process the sheer amount of betrayal brought on by the rest of my body, I think I might be set to pass out and free myself from the prison of consciousness. Or I would have, if it weren’t for the hard edge of a boot colliding with my thigh. Damn. Just when I fooled myself into experiencing hope for a second, my soul leaves my body through my open eyes. 

Tyreen is standing above me. Her fist is stapled against her hip and her eyes tell me a story. It’s one I’ve read before and it’s not nice. And I think I know how it’s going to end in 3… 2… 1… 

Boot to the thigh. Same place. Oof. Let me get an F in the chat, boys. 

When I’m not blinded by the immediate swelling in my sorry excuse for muscles, I find myself sore from the unhinged anger blistering the top layer of my brain. There are so many nasty little things I want to say to her. So many well thought out quips that would turn the tables and take _her_ out at the knees. Tragically though, I am a huge dumbass. 

And because of this chronic condition I have, somewhere between my eloquent, kind of put together thoughts and the dirt hole I call a mouth there’s a short circuit. What I thought of and meant to say is, “hey, Tyreen, God-Queen really does fit you since you’re such a royal pain in my ass,” but what actually comes out of my mouth is a slurred, “you bitch.”

Tyreen wipes sweat off her brow and barks at me, “get up, Troy. We’re leaving.” 

If my lungs had the capacity to hold enough air, I would have sighed. Instead, I muster what I can of the remaining strength in my body and force my left hand a few inches off of the ground towards Tyreen. She rolls her eyes as though I’ve asked her to do something menial and claps her palm against mine. 

Pain ricochets off of my ribcage and stabs me in the back of the eye. Not really where I expected to feel it, but every time she’s done this lately it comes with new and- wait, is exciting the right word? You know what? Fuck it, sure. We’ll go with that. _Exciting_ side effects. 

Tyreen peels me off of the floor and drags me onto my feet. She has to grip my hand and elbow while I suss out the process of getting gravity back on my side. I reach out towards nothingness and remember that I’m lacking something kind of important. 

Tyreen lets me go with a displeased sound. Something beneath my back-plate pops when I try to straighten up. 

I lave my dry tongue over my drier lip and flinch against the bitter twinge of salt residing on my upper. “Where are we going, Tyreen?” 

She’s immensely focused on buttoning her gaudy cloak over her shoulders, purposefully ignoring me. I roll my eyes and wrap my arm around my stomach. The only thing keeping me from falling over is counterbalance. Hard to do when you’re roughly the size of a technical sitting on its ass. 

“ _Ty_ -reen,” I say again, more impatiently this time. “Tell me where we’re going or I’ll-”

She cuts me off with a snort. The sound makes my stomach turn. “Or you’ll do _what_ , Troy? Huh? Wander into the desert and shrivel up like the dehydrated nutsack you are? Don’t say dumb shit. You need me. So if I were you, I’d zip it and follow without asking a stupid question everytime you open your idiot mouth.” 

I have absolutely no patience left for her attitude. “You’ve been dragging me and my actual shriveled nutsack through the Droughts for the last week and haven’t told me a goddamn thing. I lost my arm because of you! Excuuuuuse me if I want to know where my eventual place of death will be. I want to make sure I get the address right on my tombstone so our stupid followers can-” 

“Shut up! Just shut the hell up, okay Troy? You do what I say,” before I can react, Tyreen’s hand is wrapped around my bicep. Her fingers dig into my muscle so hard that it makes my knees buckle. My head swims. Nausea fills the empty space in my stomach. “And you do it _when_ I say.”

Tyreen lets me go and I sway in time with grey dots floating in and out of my vision like a varkid swarm. I could barely hold myself up before, but now? Fuck man, what even are legs?

Tyreen’s face unfurls into a sour smile that she tosses over her shoulder. It’s a look I know well. One that says, ‘hey I just stole your lifeforce and now I’m all uppity about it and you have to do what I say because I’m a God-Queen!’ Suffice to say, I hate that look. But I hate what comes out of Tyreen's mouth next more. 

“Besides,” she hums at me. “You’re a _dehydrated_ nutsack, not a shriveled one. Now let’s _go_ , dickface!” 

I pause for a moment and look at the wall, briefly considering smacking my head against it until I turn my face to pulp. Though tempting as that may be, with my luck, it would somehow grant me immortality and an even more fucked up face instead of death. I regretfully opt out via self-stoning and wobble after Tyreen into the unforgiving Pandoran heat. 

…

If there’s one thing about Pandora that I don’t understand, it’s why anybody actually wants to live here. I mean, come on. Seriously, who looked at this wasteland and thought to themselves, “yeah, I’d love to be cooked alive every single day.” Because compared to where I came from, this place is an armpit. Smells like one too. 

The heat is bastardly. Pandora hasn’t quite mastered the whole night and day cycle, which is where a lot of my issues are coming from. Twenty two hours of unrelenting sun with a measly two hour reprieve is no way to live. Especially not when you’re a.) huge, b.) heat intolerant, and c.) disabled. 

And that’s where my bitching comes in. I’m dragging myself across the sand while the sun turns my guts into stone and puckers my asshole. My back and neck hate me, my body leans off to one side like a drunken Psycho, the sand underfoot trips me up every couple of steps, and my clothes are strangling me. 

I hate these clothes. Like most things not tailor made for me, they don’t fit. And because of Tyreen bullying me into it, nearly every inch of my skin is wrapped up in something. She’s dressed the same, with her excuse being, “it’s for our own good.” The funny thing about that though: whenever Tyreen says something’s for “our” own good what she really means is hers. And judging by the sweat already gluing her bangs to her forehead, it’s not doing her any favours either. 

She stomps across the sand leaving me, literally, in the dust. I call out to her, but the words chafe my throat and leave me in a breathless wheeze. I’m panting, black around the edges, and weak. 

Something bumps against my leg. 

When I look down, I’m greeted by Molly butting her head lightly against my calf. She whines at me and flashes her inner mouth. A sign of trust. 

“God-King!” Sand squelches beneath bare feet. Running across the dunes towards me is Molly’s handler, Holly. How original, right? “I mean, uh, Troy! Hey! Wait up!” 

I stop and grip my knees, thin drops of sweat falling from my brow. “What?” 

Holly pats Molly on her scaly head and earns a rumbly noise in response. A little bow adorns one of the small horns jutting out from Molly’s skull. Oh, and in case it wasn’t clear, Molly is a trained skag. Yeah. It’s a little weird, but that’s Pandora for you. She’s kinda cute though, so not the worst thing this planet’s shown me. 

“Where is the God-Qu...I mean, where’s Tyreen?” 

I throw a vague gesture up ahead. “Somewhere up- _ngh_ -up there. Why?” 

“Oh well,” Holly is scratching the skag on the side of her head and Molly is wiggling her ass so hard I’m afraid it might detach and be ejected into the highest layers of the atmosphere. “I was told to move ahead and meet with you both before the next leg of your journey, but it seems I’m a tad late. Either way, I’m supposed to tell you that there’s been a new Ascendant assigned to accompany you and Tyreen. Don’t worry though, you're only losing me. Molly here has been requested to be a guest of honor for your new companion.” 

“Wait, why?” 

“I don’t know. But the Ascendant that will be accompanying you is the Founder. They specifically requested to be in the presence of the Gods, er, I mean the you… two…” 

I snort. Sand rattles around in my lungs. “What the hell does this Founder person want with us? Last I checked, you weirdos were the 'admire from a distance sort.' No offense.” 

Holly shrugs. “I only know what I am allowed to know, Troy. And the only thing I know is that we do what the Founder says.” 

“Which is?” 

“To watch after the two of you.” 

“Wow. Whelp, sorry for your loss.” 

“If I knew anything else I would tell-”

“Tell me,” I nod. “I get it.” 

Holly looks around at the sheer nothingness surrounding us on all sides before settling her eyes on Molly. She sighs and scratches the skag’s chin. “Have you given any thought to what I told you last?” 

“What, about the Great Vault?” She nods without looking at me with some kind of misplaced reverence. I roll my eyes at her. “Look, Holly. This, all of this? It’s Tyreen’s game, not mine. I’m only here because I’ll die without her. A parasite can’t be away from its host for very long. That’s a death sentence. And as much as I like to jerk off to my murder-suicide fantasies, I don’t want to go out on Pandora. I want to die where I came from and be eaten by Djira.” 

“By _what_?” 

I limply wave her off. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, I hate Pandora so much that I will not give it the pleasure of killing me. If that means following Tyreen on this fucking scavenger hunt, covered in sand and misery, then that’s what I’ll do, okay? Why do you even care so much, huh? If it's a pity thing, I’m going to have to ask you to mind your business.”

“I promise you it’s not that.” 

“Then what is it? I’m so tired of being kept in the dark by everyone that I-”

Before I can get my tangent really going, a small figure approaches Holly from behind and squeezes by her leg. Draped in several layers of long cloaks that obscure their face, making out anything definitive is less of a fool’s errand and more of a moron’s quest. I can’t help but let my train of thought derail because holy _shit_ , that is a small person. Like, so small I could probably drop kick their little ass over the dunes. The keyword here is _could_ because that action is wholly dependent on how much of my limited strength I wanted to waste pissing these Ascendant weirdos off. The answer: none. I don’t have the energy to care that much. 

Still, it’s funny and I snort. Holly looks at me a little cross-eyed. I shrug at her. Molly yelps excitedly. 

“Y-your Founder… liness…” Holly sputters and chokes on her own tongue. She sure has a lot of reverence for people who don’t deserve it. Me, Tyreen, this weirdo. Not ideal candidates to be given the power of Belief. “I thought you weren’t due to be here yet. Last I heard you were still a ways out.”

The Revered Founderliness waves her off and turns to me. They gesture vaguely up ahead. I look to Holly with a raised brow and shudder as a drop of sweat slides down my back and in between my cheeks with absolute precision. For a moment there I was so distracted by the general what-the-fuckery that is my life I almost forgot I’m nothing more than a bony cutlet being slow roasted by a hateful star. Come to think of it, that’s probably why most of the brain-fried fanatics living in abandoned shipping containers and on the fringes of skag dens eat each other. Seasoned and cooked just by walking around. Maybe that’s why they’re called salt of the earth people. Huh. Wow, that’s fucked but also really, really funny. 

I zone back in when Molly nudges me again. When I look down at her this time, she’s dug her back paws into the sand and is using her crusty little head to push at me. I’m a little too dense to move in a way that’s not of my own accord, but I get the idea. It’s time once again to trudge through this desolate wasteland. 

Underneath my layers of clothing my skin is sticky and chafed. My limbs gain some limited sentience when I take a step, and my body protests every tiny move. Between Tyreen not giving me ample time to rest and the unrelenting heat, I’m drained. Sucks when you’re less than whole. 

The small figure trots up beside Molly. They gesture in the same direction, but this time with a touch of impatience. I muster up something akin to a sigh. I’m already this deep in my grave and I doubt I can sink any lower. Why bother trying to respect some asshole stranger who won’t even dignify me with their identity? 

Despite how much I just want to rest, I force myself to keep going. With Molly and the Revered Founder at my side, the desert seems bigger and lonelier somehow. 

… 

**Orion | Chapter I | Part II**

My ECHO blips by my head. I’m groggy and I want to snooze it. I want five more minutes so I can pretend I’m somewhere else. 

Pfft. Big dreams for someone like me. I’ve been on Pandora my whole life, save for those few rough years I spent in the Anvil. But I don’t talk about that. Not anymore. 

The ECHO blips again and I peel my face away from the table. Damn, I must have fallen asleep at work again. Doesn’t matter. I think at this point, a curved spine might be the most tolerable plank in the shit shack that houses my soul. One eye, one tit, 30% of my body covered in scar tissue, and a six inch black spot of dead nerves and skin from a scorpion rakk sting. I’m really just the cream of the bandit crop here on Pandora. 

Still. It could be worse. After all, this is the universe’s badlands. It could always be much, much worse. 

I don’t have enough time or energy to focus on the philosophical query that is “how bad can things really be?” I have an ECHO message I need to respond to. 

Lazily, I flick the playback button. My ECHO seems hesitant to play the message. I smack it with the flat of my palm and it whirs angrily. 

[Holly] The Founder will be meeting with the Twins today.  
  
[Gorebody] A feast for the children who have howled at the moon! Rise! RISE!

[Holly] Or chill. Chill would be great too. 

[Gorebody] For we are the ones who have been chosen by the God-Qu- (muffled) -Myrneen!

[Holly] You know as well as I do we aren’t to use that. Not anymore. No. Gods. 

[Gorebody] Mrmfph?

[Holly] What? Ew, gross. No. Not… not that either. Actually, new rule effective as of now. Never that. 

[Gorebody] Mmrpgf frhpg frmf grm.

[Holly] The Droughts, yes. We know where they’re going. The old Broadcasting Center. “The Trial of Memory,” the Founder called it. Tyreen’s idea. 

[Gorebody] FOR THE QUEEN!

[Holly] No! Shh! Shit. 

I’m up. I’m as up as I have been over the last nine years. So it was true. That crazy bastard was telling the truth for once in his worthless life. I really want to be shocked but on some level I knew that something was happening. Or changing. Either way, the hunch I had felt too bone deep to be ignored. My own internal warning system. Glad to know that some part of me was still actively engaged with the world around me. 

Though, this ECHO was recent. Holly sent it to me less than a day ago. Less than twelve hours ago even. That means they were coming this way, and soon. Sure, _he’d_ be with them, but I’ve already dealt with him. He knows my feelings and my part in the story and still chose to ignore me. Not this time. I feel owed and I want to collect on that debt. 

I grab my trusty Dahl pistol from the table and shove the barrel into the waist of my pants. The metal is refreshingly cold where I can feel it. I long for the day I can roll out of a real bed, put my feet on a real floor, and not wince every time the outside air touches me. 

That day, unfortunately, is not today. Likely not tomorrow either, but it’s a cheery little thought to satisfy my desperate need for any sliver of hope I can cling onto. I’m fine. Really. 

Without letting myself fall, totally, into the endless pit of despair I hastily prepare myself to interact with the outside world. A thick layer of old cloth and bandages twists around the upper half of my chest, covered only by a loose, open shirt I plucked off of a sleeping Psycho with a fresh skin pizza a little over a week ago. Stupid fool probably didn’t even notice his fancy digs were gone when he woke up. 

I use the scraps of the cloth and bandages that cover my chest to wrap my left eye. No one needs to see that mess, especially not me. (It’s a joke, get it?) The last thing I want to think about is the fact that any and all stability in my eye socket is solely dependent on the marble I shoved in there years ago after a bullet disintegrated my depth perception. 

There’s no denying that I’m a mess but because I’ve got nice hair and most of my sanity intact, I’m a Pandoran 7. (And a Promethean 4, an Eden 9, and a Hyperion -10.) I don’t have time to worry about my looks. I keep reminding myself that it’s not a first impression if you’ve met before. 

My hands shake as I set myself up to exit my bunker. Am I ready for this? 

Shit, I guess I have to be, right? 

I know I’ll never get another chance. I have to be ready. And I pray to whatever wants to listen to me that when the moment comes, he’ll remember me. 


	2. I’d Wish Upon a Star, but it’s a Bit Too Abstract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not the happiest I've ever been with this chapter BUT it is going to propel the rest of the story into action. Hang tight, we're climbing up the hill and the drop is coming!

**Orion | Chapter II | Part I**

One chance. 

I have to remind myself of this when I’m pinning a Psycho to the ground with my foot and wetting the sand with what’s left of his brains. Having my arm gouged with the business end of a buzz axe was a stark reminder of what was at stake here. 

Pandora’s great conundrum, at least in my humble opinion, is how overvalued and underpriced a pound of flesh is. Your skin is priceless but plentiful, and it’s best to just forget about the brain. 

For most of the sad sacks not being made into a chew toy for a skag, the best option is to take up medical grade insanity and some imagined higher purpose. Usually that meant (literally) howling at the moon, but a feeble mind can be easily swayed with the right amount of charisma and empty promises.

That’s where Tyreen Calypso came in. I always knew something was off about her, but my hunch was confirmed after Troy told me what she’d done to him in their shared youth. Despite the lawlessness of this planet, there were things that even the most sallow-souled Badasses didn’t do. And yet Tyreen found it in herself to be even more heinous than I’d ever imagined a false idol could be. 

I would ask a genuine higher power to make sense of it all, but from my breadth of experience, there’s just no sense in some things. 

I kick the Psycho’s flaccid body to the side and let his loose viscera slide off the toe of my boot. Hungry rakks cry above me and I take that as my cue to keep going. 

> ❝ _ Leave the scraps to the dogs _ .❞ 

I blink and see his face in front of mine for just a moment. 

What the  _ hell _ ? I wasn’t even  _ around  _ him when he said that. I only watched it second-hand in the Anvil at the non-negotiable insistence of the Warden. Sheesh. The heat must be making me lose my grip. 

I dab the sweat from my brow and tuck my gun back into my pants. Blood seeps into the fabric of my shirt. 

I curse and spit, unwrap a single layer of cloth from my chest, tie off the gash over my (now ruined, boo hiss) digs, and keep going. I can’t be far out now. Too many hours have passed for that to even have a touch of truth to it. 

The sun at this time of day is unforgiving, but I’m honing in on a still functioning Catch-a-Ride nested in the rocky overhang up ahead. These things have been cropping up more frequently since the untimely death of the brands former proprietor and the successful passing of ownership. 

Ellie, the infamous gal with an equally as infamous (S)crapyard out in the Dust, has proven quite the strategic businesswoman. Never met her myself, but I think we’d get along okay. (Conveniently sweeping by the fact she hates Troy, but I’m sure with some convincing she’d come around. Or not. It’s a hypothetical, okay? Not that deep.)

I force my legs to drag my feet along the sunbleached asphalt of the abandoned highway, running past a still occupied COV outpost and trying not to direct any unwanted attention to myself. 

I hate those makeshift bases and the stupid Tyreen-ass-kissing bastards living in them. Despite being little more than scrapped ships and rusted metal bolted together in a haphazard fashion, they always look like some kind of inbred vault monster bursting through the desert’s seams. All arms and no substance, it looms over the highway in the shadows of rockface and rakk nests. 

No time to lose. Shaking off my disdain, I keep going. The sky is blazing orange and red, streaked with thin, rainless wisps. Night is coming, and I’d rather not be on foot when that happens. 

Making my way to the Catch-a-Ride is easy enough, and I digistruct an Outrunner for the next leg of my journey. These things have been my saving grace since I landed back on Pandora. Light enough to avoid compromising speed, but sturdy enough to withstand running over skags and the occasional underfoot fanatic. 

I shove my limbs through the bars and into the driver’s seat. These things are clunky to get into when you’re over six feet (it may only be by an inch, but that still counts!) and missing an eye. Depth, you know? 

I start the Outruner and jam my heel into the gas. I know where I’m going. North, towards the towering horns and flashing lights. The HBC. Fuuuuuuuuck. 

A COV runner flanks my right side, barreling around a dip in the road and blasting a missile at me. These assholes. Ducking beneath the wheel and yanking my runner to the left, I wince as the heat of the projectile grazes my head. If I don’t get rid of these dicks, I’m going to end up in a charred mess of scrap and tires. 

Blindly, I grab the control for the front gun. It clicks and spits a stream of bullets ahead of me. The fanatics in the car howl and bay like the feral dogs they are, and smoke starts to fill my nose. Good to know they’re still putting runners together with elbow grease and fuck-all. Makes ‘em easy to destroy. 

I keep shooting and driving with my head below the wheel. Classic rookie mistake on Pandora: looking up before killing your enemy. That’s how you lose your head. Or in my case, your damn eye. 

The cacophony of screaming and gunfire continues for a few moments but quickly dissolves into the sweet melody of silence. (Of course, silence only comes after the deafening explosion, but those are inextricably linked technicalities on this planet.) 

I sigh in relief and look up just in time to witness myself perfectly executing a “Pandoran Stop,” or in layman's terms: ramming the front end of my runner into the base of an overhang. My wounded arm burns as I ragdoll in the driver’s seat, gasping for air that bails out of my chest in a rush. 

My first instinct is to look up and, while I don’t regret it, I’m not particularly thrilled about it either. Most of the cliffs in Pandora have occupied underbellies. This one is no different. Rakk nests (colloquially known as “rakk sakks” in the common bandit parlance) dangle from the rock like drool from a skag’s mouth.

Having been stung by a rakk before, I’m unwilling to let myself be a pin cushion for these flying monstrosities more than once. I survived the first time, but there’s really no such thing as a second chance in these flats. You really do only live once on Pandora. (Unless you can afford to be reconstructed, but most folks can’t. Despite its untimely demise, Hyperion’s claws are still deep in Pandora’s guts.) 

Just as I’m preparing to throw the runner back, something not far off catches my eye. I squint through the rippling waves of heat projecting off of damn near everything and force oxygen back into my lungs with a deep, stuttering breath. 

Squinting still, they come into focus. A small group: three people of wildly varying heights and a chubby skag at their heels are trekking through the sands. 

The small form at the front of their procession walks like a commander. Sure, firm steps as though the ground were thousands of devoted hands holding up their soles. A smaller figure a few feet behind is balancing their roundness on two less-sure feet, taking long strides in a losing game of follow the leader. 

And the last figure. Tall, almost unbelievably so, laboring on unsteady legs. Dragging seems too light a term to describe the pained steps that fall behind. Despite the blurring effects of the heat I can clearly see only one arm.

_ Troy. _

I know it’s him. It has to be. Which means…  _ ugh _ , of course. _ He’s _ with them, and that asshole in front must be Tyreen. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize that hoity-toity gait sooner. Still, despite my misfortunes, it seems I’ve made it to where I need to be. 

Without thinking, I bail out of my runner. I can always come back or digistruct a new one later. I don’t want to pull up on that group and risk having my ass handed to me by the leader of that merry band of misfits. (i.e. Tyreen.) Besides,  _ he _ should know exactly who  _ I  _ am. 

I ignore the rakks above me and just run. Despite their ferocity, rakks are territorial little shits. They don’t follow me into the open air, choosing instead to linger close to their nests. What was once the forefront of my problems has quickly and easily become the least thereof. 

I head East, closing the distance between Troy and myself. Sure, those other two are there, but I didn’t come all this way for them. I didn’t bail on the safety I had on Eden-6 for them. I didn’t hold out hope for nine fucking years for them. 

I did it all for Troy. 

With what little air I have in my lungs and against the force of my heart punching against its cage, I close my eyes and call his name. 

* * *

**_Orion - Glimpse of the Past | Chapter II | Part II_ **

_ I’m sitting on the deck’s edge, high above the murky water cutting through the uneven landscape of Eden-6. The air is still and heavy with the stench of wet earth and feral overgrowth. Sweat falls from my brow and creates a faint ripple as it disappears into the surface of the swamp below. I sigh against the pressing humidity and hold my stomach a little tighter.  _

_ “Hey,” Troy says, nudging my shoulder with his thigh. I look up and he smiles, passing me a steaming cup. “Looks like somebody could use a little pick me up.” _

_ Despite the wringing feeling radiating through my abdomen, I manage to smile back at him as I take the cup. “Thanks.”  _

_ Troy grunts in response and plops himself down next to me on the deck. His legs are closer to the water’s surface than mine, and his bare soles swing gently back and forth to simulate a breeze. He sighs pleasantly when he takes a long pull from the cup.  _

_ I watch him for a moment before uncrumpling myself enough to take a sip from my own cup. The dark liquid is bitter and watery on my tongue. It’s no Arcturian Superblack, but it’ll do. Not that I’ve ever been lucky enough to try Superblack-- it’s on the list of things to do before we get the fuck out of here.  _

_ I sigh again and set my cup aside, crumpling into myself as a rocket is launched inside of me.  _

_ Troy looks at me with concern etched into his face. When I turn to cock a brow at him, I notice the sweat that’s beading up on his forehead, the purple shadows brushed beneath his eyes. I muster some semblance of a smile to flash at him, but I can tell by the way he puts his hand gingerly on my spine that I’m fooling no one.  _

_ “Cramps?” He asks, lovingly drawing circles on my low back.  _

_ “Yeah,” I reply a bit breathlessly.  _

_ “How bad?”  _

_ “Really bad.”  _

_ “Do I need to get you medical attention? Because I could probably pilfer a medic from-”  _

_ I wave him off. “It’s not that serious, Troy-Boy. Just uncomfortable.”  _

_ Troy furrows his brow. “Yeah, but what if,” he gestures vaguely, flushes, and draws a flustered half-circle extending from his abdomen. “You know…” _

_ I can’t help but snort. “Don’t be silly. We already have it figured out that isn’t a possibility for me. Last I heard, the price of surviving a rakk sting is being stripped of that, uh, privilege. It’s just my body paying its monthly sacrificial tithe.”  _

_ Troy laughs.  _ Actually _ laughs. That cute, screechy, out of breath laugh that erupts out of his mouth before his uppity sensibilities can stop it. I’ve only ever heard him burst out like that on a few sparse occasions but it’s a really blessed sound. The true God King’s blessing isn’t being Anointed, it’s hearing him laugh with genuine joy.  _

_ He coughs, clears his throat, and poorly scrapes together a recovery. “Yeah, ahem, well,” Troy turns his head away, pressing his palm against his lips. He snickers into his hand before turning back to me with a crooked smile on his lips and a mischievous look in his eyes. “What do you say I roleplay being a Crimson Raider? I can light your way with my Fireco-”  _

_ I smack my palm, lightly, against his thigh. “You are such a fucking weirdo, Troy!”  _

_ Troy pinches at my side and I squirm away. “What can I say?” He muses without an ounce of seriousness in his words. “Your God King’s got a taste for blood! Now, come here, Orion!”  _

_ “Nooooo!” I cry between my bouts of laughter, helpless against Troy’s assault on my (very) ticklish ribs. He presses a smiling kiss against my cheek. This close, I can feel him absolutely radiating “little shit” energy. It’s intoxicating, in the head-over-heels in love kind of way.  _

_ “You should have thought about that before you shacked up with me, Orion! Now you have to deal with this bullshit forever,” Troy says, pressing his face into my neck. He loosens his grip some, easing up in a gesture that’s mindful of the pain still situated in my lower body. “Too bad for you, I guess.”  _

_ “Oh no,” I bemoan, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please don’t give me what I want by letting me love you for the rest of time. That’d be just awful!”  _

_ “Yeah,” Troy says, kissing my neck tenderly. “Sure would be, huh?” _

* * *

**Troy | Chapter II | Part III**

Am I hallucinating, or is there some crazy bastard with one eye running towards me and screaming my name? 

I squint, blink, and pretend my eyes aren’t being exfoliated by the thin haze of silt that constantly hangs in the parched air. My stomach twists as I use what little energy I have left in my body to focus. Despite trying my best, like most things on Pandora, it’s a wasted effort. 

My eyes are strained and my vision is bleary when I look at Tyreen. She’s floundering and patting at herself like she’s got a severe case of sand fleas. I realize before she does that she left her gun at the last hideout. 

Some twisted part of my brain wiggles free from the throes of heat exhaustion and makes its great escape through my mouth. I laugh, out loud, at her. 

Tyreen looks at me, really  _ looks _ at me, and then growls like a small creature trying to make itself bigger. “Do something, idiot!” 

I splutter, but it’s more to the point of outrage than disbelief. “M-me? Really? You want  _ me  _ to do something, Tyreen?” It seems stupid to have to remind her, but I gesture at my arm. Or, the lack thereof. She furrows her brow and turns her gaze back to the sprawling sands. 

The two of us just stand there for a moment at the intersection of morbid confusion and cautiousness. With no real defenses, save for Molly who is currently vacating her bowels way too close my leg, I worried for a moment that Tyreen was about to turn me into a human shield.

Thankfully, she only drags the sole of her boot along the ground, kicking up silt and pitching it at me. I raise my arm and duck slightly to protect myself from,  _ gasp _ , dry grit. Oh the  _ horror _ , the  _ betrayal _ . 

I roll my eyes and swat loosely at her, only just now noticing ‘ol Short and Silent watching this parade of idiocy. 

“You gonna say anything or just stand there?” 

They just stand there. Unmoving, 

“Yeah, that seems right.”

The impending sense of doom swells for a moment as One-Eye closes the gap, but quickly passes when that bastard trips. I watch his body skid across the sand, a carousel of sand and limbs. I bark at the show, my chest heaving with laughter. 

Oh, what a fucking day. 

Tyreen moves forward, shoving me and Molly out of the way. She stands above the flaccid body of our little party-crasher and kicks at him. Lighter than she kicks at me, but still hard enough to leave a cruel reminder. 

One-Eye sits up. Runs a hand through his hair and sends bits of silt flying in every direction. He spits, wipes his face, and poorly attempts to collect himself. Up close, he’s pretty gnarly to look at. 

Pulling a gun from his waistband and gesturing at me, One-Eye says, “hey, been a while.”

Tyreen is blowing smoke out of her ears and ass. “Who  _ are  _ you?!” 

He smiles knowingly. 

>   
>    
> 
> 
> _ “Name’s Orion.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by KingCharon on Tumblr! Check them out here: https://kingcharon.tumblr.com/post/625537861871108096/drawing-friends-and-loved-ones-ocs-is-so-much  
> They're super talented and even used my boy Orion in one of their Bordertober prompts! Check them out~

**Author's Note:**

> Orion is my favourite OC to date and I am so glad I found a good home for him. I hope you enjoyed.


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